Ann Sexton
—Public Domain Photo
HER KIND
—Anne Sexton (1928-1974)
I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.
I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.
I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.
_____________________
—Medusa, continuing to celebrate Women’s History Month with nude arms and warm cave and poetry by fine women everywhere… I mean fine poetry by women everywhere. Okay—fine poetry by fine women. (Everyone knows what “kind” I am ~)
For more about Anne Sexton, go to poets.org/poet/anne-sexton/.
—Anne Sexton (1928-1974)
I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.
I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.
I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.
_____________________
—Medusa, continuing to celebrate Women’s History Month with nude arms and warm cave and poetry by fine women everywhere… I mean fine poetry by women everywhere. Okay—fine poetry by fine women. (Everyone knows what “kind” I am ~)
For more about Anne Sexton, go to poets.org/poet/anne-sexton/.
